A/N: This fic was inspired by Paige dressing up as Marlene Dietrich for Halloween. Paige in this story is loosely based upon Ms Dietrich, especially during her early, unknown years.
The Berlin of Weimat times might be best known to the English-speaking scene via Christopher Isherwood, who lived and loved there during the early 1930ies. The BBC has made a movie based mostly on his time in Berlin by the name 'Christopher and His Kind'. If you've never heard anything about Weimar Berlin before, it's a nice movie to watch to get yourself introduced to the general atmosphere of this particular period. While it is set later than this story and focuses on male homosexuality, it will give you an impression of just how liberal and sexualised Berlin was in comparison to the rest of the world at that time.
Being German myself, the Republic of Weimar has always been my favourite period of German history – there might be a bit of historical geeking out happening in the author's notes. I generally try to avoid mixing up many German words within dialogue written in English (for it tends to make me cringe) but if anything shows up, it will be in cursive and explained in the author's note at the end of the chapter.
On my tumblr, I will post additional material to this story – historic backgrounds, short stories based upon this main story, what have you. None of it will be necessary to follow the story, though, and I'll explicitly mention it when I do post something over on tumblr.
Without further ado, though, let's toss pain into the chaos of Weimar Berlin!
Berlin, Germany – March 1927
Your neck itches as the curtain closes before you. Standing in the spotlight still makes you sweat like an animal, even after years of theatre experience and no matter how much you love sporting tuxedos, they're not the right garment to get sweaty in. Once the applause has faded, you'll be headed backstage to get into more comfortable, less sweaty clothes. Your hair looked a lot more stellar a few hours ago and most of your stage make up has melted off your face. Over all, you feel very worn-out and dirty – but the happy sort of worn-out and dirty. Today has been the premier of the second play in which you scored the female lead and in conclusion, you have to admit it all went very well.
Over the last three years, your German has improved to a level where people have trouble telling you were not actually born here and this has opened up all sorts of new opportunities for possible employment. You have spent most of your 20ies playing minor roles in local theatres but finally, all the work you have poured into shaping your talents and perfecting your act have paid off. Your career is gaining in momentum by the month and paying your rent has long since vanished off of your list of problems. Making a living as an actress is something you have mastered by now, the only thing left to master is becoming famous as an actress – and you're positive that you've taken another step towards that goal tonight.
The distant sound of clapping grows weaker and finally comes to a stop. This is your cue to leave and get refreshed; you swivel around on your heel as a sign of your happy mood and start walking towards the back stage area. A small, joyful whistle begins to form on your lips as you playfully shrug the top hat off your curly hair and let it wander around your shoulders on your outstretched arms. Indeed, you are nothing if not jolly right now – quite probably the happy delirium-like state that follows the ecstasy of being extremely tense. The door of your dressing room down the hallway is already in sight; you loosen the bow tie around your neck and wipe your sweaty neck clean.
You are but a few steps short from reaching the door when somebody suddenly blocks your way. First, you almost run head-first into them, then you abruptly stop your movement and find the time to be surprised by the sudden blockage in your way. The blockage turns out to be one your co-stars, who is now laughing heartily at you.
"Why, Paige, I didn't mean to scare you to death! Don't look at me like you've just seen a ghost, will you?"
"Maren, what are you doing here? I really wish to go to my dressing room now, I smell and feel like a gym."
"Nonsense, dear, you look just dapper. And you don't have time for your dressing room, anyway. All of us are celebrating the success of our first show tonight! We know the most extravagant club, you will be intrigued and delighted – I promise. It's going to be outrageous!"
"I really do not know, Maren. The show was really grand, but I feel exhausted. I probably won't be a lot of fun to have around. Maybe I'll even scare off the other patrons of that club, disorderly as my appearance is now. I haven not even taken my tuxedo off!"
"Listen to yourself! Paige, you'll have to accept that you're now a star in Berlin; you're a person of fame. If anything, you will attract patrons. And that tuxedo is so very lovely on you, you might just consider making it your trademark look."
Before you can raise your voice in protest again, Maren has her fingers securely around your wrist and drags you along with her towards the theatre's back exit. The exterior of the young woman – a short, lean frame adorned with a Bubikopf haircut and a pretty Charleston-style dress – belies the force she is currently exerting on your arm. Helplessly, you stumble after her, still too dumb-founded to do anything to defend yourself against this abduction.
Outside the theatre's back door, most of your colleagues are already waiting for you; they applaud and call and whistle for you as you step out of the door. You smoothen out your tux and smile at them, trying to focus on all the praise they have for you instead of the anxiety the prospect of the night fills you with. Shy surely is not the first word you'd use to describe yourself with but you have been so focused on building a career for the time you've been in Berlin that you have rarely if ever found time to explore its famous night life. At least this short-coming of yours is going to be corrected tonight, you shrug to yourself, and allow your colleagues to sweep you up in their enthusiasm and take off with them in the direction of a yet unknown location.
The cab ride has already taken quite a while but you cannot spot anything that even remotely resembles a night club in the streets that you pass through. Somewhere in the back your mind, you're beginning to worry whether this is actually an abduction rather than a night out with friends. Lost in thought about possible escape routes, you're startled when the cab you're occupying together with Maren and two male actors comes to an abrupt halt. The others are already shuffling out while you're still trying to process things. The street you stopped on is completely empty, only very dimly-lit and pretty certainly does not belong to any entertainment district or amusement mile.
"Are we there?" you manage to stutter out.
"Almost", Stefan answers you. He is a young actor with big, sensitive brown eyes, thick eyelashes and high cheekbones – if you were inclined to date one of your colleagues, which you aren't, Stefan would probably be on top of your list. "This is as far as the cab can take us."
A confused look does not leave your face as you finally get out of the car and hand the driver a few Mark; way more than the fair was actually due but you felt like some extra money would prevent any questions he might ask. Like why a young, pretty actress of some reputation decided to dress in a tuxedo and let herself be dragged onto this somewhat creepy looking street with intentions that aren't even clear to herself. The driver tries to shower you with gratitude but you're hurrying after your friends who have already started walking before he has the chance to do so.
When you have caught up with them, they're in the process of entering a dark courtyard. Your confusion is at maximum now – are your friends actually trying to abduct themselves or what is going on? Then you spot the gate they're steering towards; it bears a toilet symbol and you presume that some of them simply want to relieve themselves before diving into night life. Maren reappears at your side, snaking her fingers around your wrist again albeit with muss less force this time.
"Prepare to have your mind blown, Paige."
"Huh? I assumed we were just going to let someone use the lavatory here."
"Oh, Paige, you have much to learn. The good night clubs are the ones that are not openly visible to everyone, so only those who really know how to make themselves merry will enter those clubs."
"So we're going to a secret, exclusive club? How will I even be allowed inside; surely they will notice that I do not go to clubs and have no experience with them!"
"Don't worry, don't worry. They will find you plenty suitable to enter, just trust me."
The conversation does very little to calm your nerves or the slightly sick feeling that is starting to form in your stomach. You haven't known any of the colleagues that are currently embarking upon adventure with you for a long time; you met most of them at the first rehearsal for your current play. This seems to be too short a time to build up the amount of trust you wish you had in any of them. In the face of Maren's amiable yet somewhat devilish smirk, though, you have to realise that you have run out of rational reasons to object to this extravaganza.
After passing through the first gate with the toilet sign – after which there is no toilet to be found – your crew passes through two other gates, just as unassuming as the first one but without any toilet signs. Finally, you spot before you a door that looks like it may actually lead somewhere – and you are correct in your assumption, for your posse squeezes into the narrow entrance. Once you have stepped through the door, you almost fall to your death – or so you think – because right in front of you, the steepest stair case you have ever seen in your life leads down to a lower level and you were one step away from tumbling down all the way.
You very, very cautiously manoeuvre down every step and contemplate how in the last 25 seconds, you have found a whole new respect for something as simple as stairs. Maybe one day, this respect will save your life – if you ever encounter this stair case's likeness somewhere else again. Hopefully you won't, though, because death traps such as this should be all sorts of illegal and is not law-making one the Germans' favoured past times?
Because you are so very occupied with your deep thoughts on stairs, it almost escapes your consciousness when you actually do arrive at the lower level in one piece. Before you the hallway widens to form what you assume is the ante-chamber of the club you're trying to enter. You have not entirely made it into the chamber when you're already inclined to stumble backwards out of it. There are two huge people guarding the entrance. At first look, they look like teenage boys but a closer look reveals that they're actually large, muscular woman in male worker clothes. The cigars that they're smoking fill the whole chamber with a stinging smoke.
Another one of your colleagues carefully presses a hand against the small of your back to keep you from fleeing. Maren, courageous and forwards as ever, is the first to step up to one of the door guards. The woman gives Maren a very critical once-over and then gives her small nod. Maren bends forward as much as her dress allows it and the seated woman gives her a kiss. Even if Maren and you are not the closest friends on this earth, you are about to jump in and save Maren from what molestation she might suffer. Maren, on the other hand, does not seem to be bothered by the process at all – she gives you a wink along with an encouraging smile and beckons you to come over.
Terror spreads through your insides at the idea of having to be kissed by a stranger to get into this elusive club – a woman no less! If there was one thing that Maren had been very honest about, it was that this club was going to be an outrageous place. Stefan is the next one to step up the ticket table the two grim-looking guard women are situated behind. Both women seem to examine him closely but seem to find no fault with him, for they wave him through and he proceeds without any kisses.
Maybe the same thing will happen to you, you hope. Maybe they'll just not find you kiss-worthy and you'll simply be able to walk through, just like Stefan was. Another young woman belonging to your theatre group steps forward – she gets a nod and a kiss, just like Maren. You're beginning to see a pattern there: the ones who get waved through are spared, the ones who get a nod are not. From the other side of the room, Maren whistles to get your attention. She once again beckons you to come forward and pass the guards; her smile and wink are definitely alluring invitations, you have to admit.
Paige McCullers is no coward, you think and try to let the words sound firmly in your mind as you pluck up your courage and take a few steps towards the ticket table. The smoke only grows more intense the closer you come to the intimidating women, and you actively have to fight down the urge to cough. You are very aware of the two pairs of eyes that start to muster you from head to toe, probably searching for a reason to not let you in – possible reasons include, but are not limited to, how unclean you currently are and the curious clothes you're sporting.
"A Dodo, eh? Haven't had one of them in here for a long time."
"Sorry?" You have no idea what the woman just called you. Isn't a dodo some kind of bird?
"Excuse my friend," you hear Maren chime in from the side, "it's her first time. She would make a very fine Dodo, though, would she not? She is so sophisticated, too, an actress!"
One of the women makes a sound that you suppose is meant to be affirmative towards Maren, then returns her attention to you. She gives you one last once-over and then nods. A nod. You know what that means. And you dread what it means. You helplessly search the eyes of Maren but she only seems to be cheering you on silently. Gulping down a huge knot that has formed in your throat, you slowly begin to bow down and prepare for the worst. The intimidating woman that is closer to you leans in for the kiss and you instinctively close your eyes, hoping that if you don't see the kiss happen you might not register it all.
Everything is quite the opposite, though. You do register the kiss; you register it with all your senses safe for your sight. And quite in contrast to your expectations, it is not the worst. Certainly, the woman reeks of her cigar but the feeling of her lips on yours is actually very soft. You had expected a kiss from a woman like this to feel very much akin to a right hook to the jaw – not like the velvety, warm feeling that now spreads over your lips. The woman has already pulled away and is back to her grim-looking self when you're still busy letting your eyes flutter open and trying to remember how to stand up and walk.
"Impressive, huh?" Maren is at your side before you even realise it, dragging you towards Stefan who is waiting at the actual entrance door.
"Uh, yes, I'd say so." The intensity with which your face reddens belies your verbal response.
"They're trying to find out who is opposed to lady-loving with this little test. Because this club is all about lady-loving. And you are not against that Paige, now are you?"
"I suppose I am not. I did pass the test, after all." That feels like an understatement. You enjoyed the test far, far more than you'd like to admit. Now you're very actively trying to push it out of your mind and just hope that the rest of your troupe passes quickly so you can finally enter the club and occupy your mind with other things.
Within the next minute, everyone has passed and you're eagerly pushing open the doors to the club itself. If you have been dragged out this far, you might as well enjoy yourself. The first impression you get is actually pretty disappointing. Before you lies a big room, filled mostly with a few tables at which customers are enjoying their beers. The walls are mostly bare, and there are no signs of anyone trying to set up something akin to décor in the place.
You muster the two handfuls of customers more closely. There are a few couples, probably married ones, around ages 30 to 50. Their attires make them look as if they had stumbled upon the club by accident after getting off a train, and you're fairly sure you overhear one of the gentlemen speaking in British English. There's a group of young women, clothed in a wide array of wardrobes from girly dresses to suits with leather ties and fedoras. They are all crouched closely over a table, seemingly immersed in some sort of game. Other than that, there are few single older men that look around the room searchingly, young men with notepads (journalists maybe?) and single women at the side line, adorned in heavy make-up and provocative skirts.
In the dim light, your eyes find a stage. The curtain is closed, and has very strange holes in it that do not seem to be random tears. In front of it are some chairs and things that indicate that a small band might play here, but for now the place is entirely without music. All in all, the club seems pretty ordinary to you, and bears no signs of the extravagant adventure that Maren promised you. Before the pout can form on your lips, your colleague is by your side again – as if she overheard you thinking of her.
"The main room is nothing to look at, is it not?"
"No … not especially." You choose your words carefully; albeit your disappointment you do not wish to offend anyone around you.
"Yeah, then wait until we get to the back. This main room here, it is for the common customer, the tourists, the voyeurs, what have you. We, on the other hand, are the pinnacle of their patrons. We're young, we're pretty, we're famous – or at least you are. We'll have the back room almost to ourselves."
A wave of relief washes over you because Maren shares your opinion on the main room. You're also very intrigued by the promise of this elusive back room – what will await you there, you wonder? Maren once again drags you behind her towards a small passage-way. Once you have passed it, the interior changes quite drastically. The walls are adorned with erotic murals, depicting various acts of Sapphic love; below them on the walls are cut-outs of famous actors and of a beautiful blonde woman that you don't recognize. The beer tables are replaced with proper tables with chairs around them. Upon everything else, the people in this room are different from the main room. There are almost no males, and the women seem … different. A lot of them are wearing pretty heavy but not tacky make-up, much like the ones in the main room.
The important difference, though, is that all of the women in here are attractive. Very attractive. The sort of attractive that confuses you – you don't know whether to be envious of these women for their looks, or whether you want to desire them. As soon as the thought pops up in your mind, you wish to swat it away like a fly. Inappropriate thoughts about other women unfortunately are nothing new to you – they have followed you around for quite a bit of your adult life and you have yet to manage to shake them off. You really cannot honestly label it a phase when it continues over several years and only seems to get worse the more you try to indulge in dating handsome men.
Before you can fall into a prolonged phase of self-hatred and confusion, Maren leaves your side and walks towards one of the pretty women. She seems to recognise Maren, as her face visually lights up when she notices Maren approach. They hug each other and the unknown woman walks a pair of fingers down the cleavage of Maren's dress. The way in which your eyes widen at the sight must be pretty comical, for Stefan next to you breaks out in a fit of chuckles.
"Paige, my dear, you are one impressive example of staying home too much if I've ever seen one. This is Berlin, the Hauptstadt, the one city in Europe where everybody is free to love as they please! You ought to loosen up a bit and let go of whatever moral baggage you may have brought with you from England!"
You blush because your face must be really easy to read to anyone around you. But you do not even know whether this open display of Sapphic affection confounded you because never have you seen people be brave enough to display it before – or because you wish you were the target of such affections. To this day, your own sexuality remains a mystery and a difficult topic to you – you have only had relationships with men so far, but it is clear which sex you are more frequently attracted to. What you do not know is what that means – does it mean you are actually a lesbian or does it just mean that women intrigue you in a special way that need not be sexual?
Only now you notice that a waitress has made her way into the back room and is waiting to take your orders. One of your colleagues chimes in before anyone can answer her personally and loudly requests she bring champagne for every member of your troupe. Although you are not the heaviest of drinkers, a glass of champagne seems like it would be a nice beverage in the face of celebration, so you absentmindedly nod your approval. A few of the tables are pushed together and you take seat just opposite Stefan, with two of your young colleagues flanking your sides.
Maren has now left her girlfriend (or whatever these two may be) and joined you at the your table, so you have nothing left to stare at. You engage in idle conversation with your cast mates until the champagne arrives. Several waitresses appear and set upon your table a number of buckets filled with ice, resting in each one are two bottles of champagne. Everyone receives a fine champagne glass and your colleagues start to joyfully fill everyone's glasses to the brim. Something tells you that this evening won't end with one glass of champagne.
You're three glasses into the champagne bottle resting between you and Stefan when your brain finally comes around to realising that you're actually having a really good time right now. You're talking animatedly to cast mates you barely knew before tonight, your tuxedo has stopped bothering you and you have gone at least twenty minutes without worrying about how you smell. It really has been a pretty long time since you last went out with friends, and even longer since the last time you got drunk with friends. You might get used to it, you muse to yourself and fill up your fourth glass.
"It's almost midnight, ladies! Prepare for the Black Mass!", a blonde woman you haven't noticed before shouts.
"The what?" you confusedly ask the girl sitting next to but she just giggles in response.
A waitress has appeared and is passing out glasses with a brown, clear liquid in it. You also get handed a glass and you carefully smell its contents – some sort of Brandy, perhaps Cognac you conclude with your stable but not extensive knowledge of liquors. Once everybody holds a glass in their hands, the people around you all stand up and move to the main room. You hurry after them, still without a clue as to what is going on.
In the middle of the main room stands a woman, maybe the most impressive woman you have ever seen. She is tall and of muscular build; her attire resembles that of an Indian warrior and she wears atop her hat a great black hat. Every single patron of the club gathers around her, with the exception of a few men who duck to the sides.
"That is the amazon," Stefan explains, "what she tells you to do, you do."
Before you can ask any further questions – and you have a lot them – the band that must have gathered on the stage while you were in the back room begins to play a song that everyone except you seems to know by heart. The 'amazon' starts to lead a dance around the room and everyone follows, like a line-dance. You notice that by now, the club seems to be filled with almost exclusively women who belt out the lyrics to the song the band plays as if it was the anthem of their favourite sport club. They swing their glasses high through the air and take courageous swigs of the liquid.
Because you have nothing better to do with yourself, you try to join the dance without making a complete fool of yourself and take careful sips of your drink. The liquid burns down your throat like fire and you wonder how much the other women have had to drink to be able to swallow whole mouthfuls of it.
"Kneel!"
It is the first time the amazon has opened her mouth, and what comes out of it is nothing short of a shouted order, like one might expect it in the military. The aggressive tone scares you a little bit, so you are quick to fall on your knee just like everyone around you.
The amazon smiles when she sees that every single person in the room except for her is on their knees, obviously pleased with how obedient you and your fellow club-goers are. She strolls around the room a bit, eyeing some of the kneeling patrons, before she yells her next order.
"Stand!"
The sound comes so surprisingly, you almost jump up to the ceiling instead of just to your feet and you lose a good amount of your liquor in the process. Thankfully, you didn't like it anyway. You dare not move a finger while the amazon keeps making her rounds. This ritual is most curious, you think, but you seem to be the only one around not accustomed to it.
"Drink!"
You honestly would have preferred falling on your knee again over this order. With a certain disgust, you stare into your glass where a puddle of brown liquid still remains, staring back at you and daring you to just throw it back in one swift move. So you do, but immediately regret your decision. Your mouth is one fire and your stomach convulses as if you were to vomit the very next second. You resist the urge, though, trying to steel yourself against it – and within a few blinks of an eye, the feeling subsides. Throwing up in the middle of everyone's dance would have been beyond embarrassing and you're glad you managed to avoid this fiasco.
"Now fondle! Fondle to the right!"
What? You must have misheard that, right? The amazon cannot seriously be asking you to … ? Or can she? Everywhere around you, patrons move impossibly, inappropriately close to each other – they start to form a circle and you're being dragged into it. To your left is a young girl with wide, innocent eyes that seems to be asking your permission with looks before she moves in close to you. You only stare at her in confusion and then send a spontaneous little prayer to above when you feel her hands on your shoulders, massaging you very gently from behind.
Then you turn your eyes to your right where you presume a much greater challenge awaits you. The person to your right is one of the attractive women with the heavy make-up. You gulp heavily because there are probably few people in the room that you want to fondle less than her; still the very idea seems entirely impossible. This is a massive overstepping of personal boundaries and you cannot just force yourself onto another woman, part of a game or not. The attractive woman seems to be of a very different opinion than you, though – she looks at you through her eye-lashes and her voice is a husky whisper when she raises it.
"Come on, don't be shy. I've seen the way you look at me; there is no shame in admitting to wanting me."
Your stomach plummets worse than before when you swallowed all the liquor. By now, this liquor seems to have made its way to your brain, because you are quick to cast aside all the doubt in your mind and lift your shaking hands until they rest at the woman's side. They begin to make their slow way over the woman's sides, over her shoulders and down her front onto her stomach. Never in your life have you felt more detached from your own two hands; they seem to be acting on their own accord without bothering to get consent from your mind. The woman softly sways under your movements and leans back into you, which doesn't make it easier to resist the growing realisation that you might be enjoying this whole scene.
The band starts to play another song and suddenly, everyone scatters into the main room again – as if the most curious, enticing ritual had never taken place. You're still in a trance when the two women to your sides have long left you standing dumb-founded in the middle of the room. The amazon is nowhere to be spotted anymore. Only the empty glass in your hand reminds you that this has not been just a dream.
"Look who just got her initiation to the adventure that is the Toppkeller! I told you it was most intriguing and did I promise too much?" Maren appears out of nowhere to bring you back to reality.
"No … no you didn't. It-It's curious indeed. Is that … thing? The Black Mass? Is it something people do more often here?"
"It happens every day at midnight and it's one of the things this club is famous for. There really is no better way to get to know like-minded people in this city!"
You start to wonder whether by 'like-minded people' Maren means lesbians and whether you are going to be seen as one now by perfect strangers. Would it be so bad to be seen as a lesbian? Would it hurt your career?
"Let's get back to the others! Now begins the really merry part of the evening – the band plays up, and everyone mingles, and there will be fun games to be played!"
Maren is ever so excited and you gladly follow her to the back room where the rest of your colleagues have already gathered to get their next glass of champagne. You decide you need one of those as well – one at the very least. After the Black Mass, no one retakes their seat; instead, everybody stands now, your troupe mixing with the other patrons of the club. Even the made-up women who looked so calculating on their seats at the side of the action before are now mixed with your group – a fact that you do not mind at all, for you still cannot decide which one of them is the prettiest.
The games that Maren promised turn out to be exactly one game in the end – spin-the-bottle. Lesbian spin-the-bottle for the most part. You watch with interest as two of the attractive women join in a passionate kiss when the bottle comes to a stop. It is a sight to behold for sure and for the first time in your life, you are in a place where the question whether it is appropriate matters not. In this place, everyone really can love just the way they want, sheltered from the judgemental world around them.
"Join us, sister, join us!" one of the girls playing spin-the-bottle before you hollers and you immediately turn as red as a tomato. You feel like a young girl that talks about kissing a boy with her friends for the first time, all flustered and shy. Throwing back the last of the champagne you have left in your glass, you settle between two of the women already playing. Playing one round to not seem as if you weren't enjoying yourself cannot hurt, and then you will promptly escape the game again.
Under the cheers of your fellow players, you grab the bottle that rests atop the table you're crowded around and give it a firm spin. Everyone watches anxiously as it spins, at first quickly but then losing speed until it points at a girl from your theatre troupe. She giggles and closes her eyes. You give her a quick peck on the lips and are pretty proud of yourself – you would have guessed yourself to have much more of a problem with kissing people you hardly know. The amount of alcohol amassing in your body right now might play a very central role in easing you into the idea of kissing other girls, though.
After your lips have parted from the other girls' and everyone has applauded you, you try to get away from the table again – but to no avail, the people standing to your sides trap you in their round. You watch the next person take their turn, and then the next one. Just when you're beginning to relax, a third person spins the bottle – one of the women with make-up. You just stare in terror as the bottle comes to a halt and its neck points directly at you. The woman leans over the table and grabs you by the collar of your tuxedo jacket. Her eyes are dark and sultry as she starts to kiss you – you freeze for a second but then slowly get into the kiss. You have just allowed your eyes to flutter close when she pulls away, giving you a mischievous wink as she does. If it already feels this good to kiss a girl as part of a game, what will it feel like to kiss a girl in honest?
A few kisses later and you have gotten used to the idea of playing lesbian spin-the-bottle. You have kissed a good part of the women in the room and everything is still good fun. Maybe kissing girls is not always followed by the moral fall-out that seems to happen in your head every time you do. Both the champagne and the lady kisses have thoroughly gotten to your head as you excuse yourself from the game to use the bathroom. You sway a little on the way there and still have the sense to think that you probably should not have much more to drink, lest you want to wake up with a great headache in the morning.
You're just done washing your hands when another person enters the bathroom. Quite certainly, you have seen her before this evening – she belongs to the collection of attractive women. Among all these attractive women, she stands out because she looks very different from them all. Her face is very exotic, Asian in appearance and her smooth skin has a bronze tone. Like many of the other woman, she sports a lean leather tie and an interesting skirt. It would end just above the knee, if it wasn't for its upturned corners that allow a provocative stretch of leg to show below it. You catch yourself staring at her about half a minute after she has caught you. In embarrassment, you fake a cough and look to the side.
"Hi," she says softly. In response to the greeting, you immediately turn your gaze back to her. She has taken a cautious step toward you and stares right back at you.
"Hi," you answer and it comes out in a whisper.
"Are you new around here?" Now she is standing right in front of you with her hand resting just beside you on the edge of the sink.
"Not to Berlin, no … Just to its nightlife." It's hard for you to keep your look trained on her eyes when everything about her is so pretty.
"Mhh," she makes an appreciative hum, "I hope you're enjoying it. There is nothing this city's night life cannot offer, you know?"
Your head is completely swimming, so you just nod in appreciation although you have no idea what exactly she is trying to tell you. She lets her hand brush slightly by your hip as she makes her way to the toilet stall.
Back in the middle of the still on-going party, you find Maren and motion towards the exotic woman just as she exits the bathroom.
"Who is she?" you ask in a low voice.
"I don't know her personally but she is one of the Gougnettes here. Why do you ask?"
"A Gougnette? What is that?" You forego Maren's question.
"Oh Paige, there is so much you still have to learn about the world." Maren answers mysteriously.
Although you raise a questioning eyebrow, she will not elaborate any further. It's not much later that some of your colleagues decide to call it a night and take off. You join them and drunkenly make it back to your apartment in the conviction that you have crossed off enjoying Berlin's night life of your to-do-list. This doesn't mean you won't enjoy it again, though.
A/N:
[Bubikopf] Short hairstyle, closely related to the bob. Very popular among young woman during the 1920ies.
[Mark] Short for Reichsmark, the currency of the republic of Weimar since 1924. 1 M is about 4,30€ right now or 5,60$.
[Dodo] Weimar Berlin classified its lesbians into many, many subcategories; Dodos are one of them. Dodos are tuxedoed, sophisticated power women who often like to sport monocles and horn-rimmed glasses. Their dark hair is coiffed gypsy-style with loosely hanging locks and their faces are powered white. They mostly pair with Garconnes, stylish young women with pencilled eyebrows sporting chic male French fashion.
[Hauptstadt] German word, simply means 'capitol'. Mostly outside of Germany, though, this word became Berlin's nickname, emphasising the central role it played both in Germany and in Europe as a whole back then.
[Toppkeller] One of the most well-known lesbian clubs in Weimar Berlin. I'll probably pst more about it (it is an actual, genuine location!) on my tumblr by the time I'm done with the second chapter.
[Gougnette] You'll find out what that means as soon as Paige does ;)